


Summer of '69

by interflora



Category: Supernatural, Supernatural RPF
Genre: Festivals, Historical, M/M, Summer, Woodstock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-12
Updated: 2013-05-12
Packaged: 2017-12-11 14:43:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/799877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/interflora/pseuds/interflora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt by obstinatrix, written for the Hot Fun in the Summertime Comment Fic Meme:  Summer of '69 J2, peace signs on their faces and flowers in their hair, acoustic guitars strapped to their backs, travelling across country on a break from college in VW microbuses, the works. They meet at Woodstock by accident and fall in love. </p><p>-----------------------</p><p>“Oh, yeah. Well, I’m Jared Padalecki. I’m nineteen, I’m Polish, I’m from Texas...”</p><p>Jared cups a hand around a Marlboro and lights it. “So why are you here, Jensen Ackles from Springfield, Pennsylvania?” </p><p>“Honestly, I’m here because I really, really love Jimi Hendrix and I don’t want to be a fucking doctor.”</p><p>	“That, my good man, is the right answer.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Summer of '69

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, so this prompt was on the Comment Meme and I just fell in love and got really, really carried away. This was so much fun to write and I put a lot of thought into it, so I hope y'all enjoy! I definitely wouldn't mind writing in this AU again. Also, I realize there was a great opportunity for kink given the title-- alas, it's a little tamer than that. I would really love to get some art for this piece, so if anyone's feeling inspired, -please- send it my way! :)

 

                _That was Led Zeppelin with “Your Time is Gonna Come.” What do you think about that, Suze, another hyped up band out of England, or are they the next big thing?_

Today is the last day of Jensen’s first week as a junior in college, and also happens to be the first day of the Woodstock festival in New York which Jensen is not attending.

Jensen glances up from the road and catches his and Danneel’s reflections in the rearview.

                His hair is perfectly combed and gelled in place, his pale blue button-up without a single wrinkle. He looks respectable, driving his parents’ Chevy Biscayne to a respectable school to become the most respectable of professions: a doctor.

                Danneel’s doing her lipstick with a compact, tracing perfect lines of burgundy and mashing her lips together to spread it around.

                Danneel Harris is his sanity at college. He, Sandy, and Danneel are neighbors, though Danneel went to public school while Sandy and Jensen had gone to the private Catholic high school.  Danneel was the one who knew about parties in the city, who knew how to get into clubs in Philadelphia and had connections at all the best bars.

                Without Danneel, life as a commuter that still lived at home with his parents would be even more tragic. He’d have Sandy, he supposes, but Sandy’s just so… _safe._

It takes one red light for Jensen to make up his mind.

                “We’re not going to class,” Jensen says firmly.

                “Wha?” Sandy McCoy sits up in the passenger seat, her braids framing her heart-shaped face and wide brown eyes. She looks so genuinely shocked at the words Jensen almost feels bad for her.

                _Well I just don’t know, John. The album’s making a splash, that’s for sure—_

                “I said we’re not going.”

                Jensen jerks the steering wheel towards the exit, changing lanes and cutting off a yellow Chevelle in the process.

                He waves to the driver and takes the ramp.

                “Jensen! What on earth—”

                “We’re going to Woodstock.”

                Danneel freezes with the compact still in her palm. She peers at Jensen in the rearview mirror from the backseat, considering him. Jensen meets her gaze steadily. She nods, a slow smirk spreading across her face.

                “You’re not— _we’re_ not—?” Sandy fumbles.

                “Yes, we are. I’m through with this shit. I’m just done. I don’t care; I don’t even _want_ to be a doctor.”

                “Jensen, are you feeling okay?”

                Jensen presses his foot down on the gas, kicking his station wagon into gear.

                “It’s only three hours away, we can make it if we shag ass.”

                “Well, you’d better drop me off first because my parents will _kill_ me—”

                “Alright,” Jensen says, changing lanes again abruptly. The wagon makes a screech of protest as he whips it around to stop at the curb. “Get out now, then.”

                “Are you serious?”

                “There’s a bus stop right here. It’ll take you all the way to Spruce Street.”

                Sandy gathers her bag and steps out on the sidewalk, muttering.

                “You’re crazy, you know that?”

                “Someone in this town’s gotta be,” Jensen shrugs. “I’ll see you when I get back, right?”

                “Yeah, I guess so,” Sandy sighs. “What am I supposed to tell your parents?”

                “I don’t know, make something up. Tell them Danny and I wanted to hit the beaches in Delaware one last time—something.”

                Sandy actually wrings her hands.

                “I dunno, Jensen—”

                “Bye, Sandy,” Danneel waves with her fingers and Jensen takes that as the cue to hit the road.

                “Bye!” Jensen calls, putting the wagon into gear again and shooting away from the curb, leaving Sandy a forlorn figure under the Plexiglas bus stop.

                “Her face,” Danneel giggles, putting one long leg forward and then another to climb into the passenger seat. “We can’t _miss class!”_

                Jensen grins. “Cut her a break. She’s had perfect attendance since the sixth grade.”

                “So this is it? We’re really doing this?”

                “Yeah,” Jensen says, tightening his grip on the steering wheel. “You think I’d miss Hendrix and The Who and Jefferson Airplane to sit in a stuffy classroom?”

                Danneel keeps staring at him.

                “What?” He asks, defensive.

                “You’ve changed,” Danneel says with her head cocked to the side. “But I like it.”

                 *

                Jensen drums his fingers on the steering wheel, glancing apprehensively at the long, glittering snake of cars in front of them.

                “How long can we be stuck here, though? I mean, really,” Danneel sticks her head out the window to look.

                “Dunno. Could be hours. It’s not moving at all,” Jensen says.

                There are so many Volkswagens in front of them he feels more self-conscious of his station wagon than ever. They haven’t moved for a long time and people are starting to pile out of their cars to socialize, lighting cigarettes and laughing.

                The boys are tall and lean with long hair that tumbles down their shoulders. The girls are tanned, stomachs exposed with shirts that tie off. A lot of the boys are wearing drainpipe jeans or bellbottoms, neither of which Jensen owns. He glances down at his pressed beige slacks and button-down shirt and again feels like the biggest square on planet earth.

                Danneel’s looking at the hippies with undisguised wonder and Jensen has a feeling he’s probably wearing the exact same expression. Where did they all come from? Hippies would never fly in Springfield, where Hendrix was considered “too loud” at best, “devil music” at worst.

                More and more people are pulling off the road, parking their cars and getting out to start the long walk to the festival grounds.

                “What do you think? Should we walk?”

                “Wait,” Danneel says, pulling her lipstick out of her cosmetics bag. She bites her lip and considers Jensen’s face.

                “Riiiight here,” she murmurs, drawing on him with the same red lipstick she’s wearing.

                “What’re you—?”

                “Perfect.” She beams and sits back to admire her work.

                Jensen glances in the rearview mirror. Danneel’s drawn a peace sign on his left cheek.

                “How does my hair look?” She asks, arranging it over her shoulders so that it falls in auburn waves.

                “Great,” Jensen says.

                “Here.” Danneel reaches forward and gets a hand in his hair, messing it up. Jensen has to physically restrain himself from fixing it and putting it back into its usual tidy order.

                Danneel gets out of the car, stretching her arms towards the cloudy sky.

                “Looks like it’s gonna rain,” Jensen says. “What if we can’t get back to the car tonight?”

                Danneel shrugs. “You worry too much. Just take whatever you need now.”

                Jensen considers his messenger bag in the backseat, crammed with biology textbooks and new, unused notebooks.

                “I have a tarp in the back, should we bring that?”

                “Yeah, sure, whatever you want. Let’s just _go,”_ Danneel says, her eyes fixed on the crowd of people moving towards the sounds of music.

                “Soon as I park the car,” Jensen says. “Start walking, I’ll catch you up.”

                Danneel waves and starts walking slow, and within seconds she’s picked up by a group of shirtless, shoeless boys and their girlfriends.

                Jensen watches her back as he pulls off the road, towards a few other cars that didn’t have the patience to wait out the traffic either.

                The wagon shudders to a halt in the mud and grass and Jensen digs through the backseat for the tarp, gets out, and locks the doors.

                He considers the light blue wagon. It’s looking sad and suburban parked next to a cherry red ’67 Beetle and a ’60 Impala, and he feels a fleeting fondness for the thing. It got him all the way here, after all.

                Jensen pats the warm hood of the station wagon and starts to walk towards the herds of people back on the side of the road.

                *

                By the time he and Danneel make it to the farm-turned-festival, Richie Havens is getting ready to close his set, playing a cover of _Strawberry Fields Forever_ that blends into _Hey Jude._ The crowd goes wild and the press of bodies is almost too much for Jensen to take, even as far back in the crowd as they are.

                He can’t believe his eyes—the ground is a veritable sea of people and color and the stage seems miles away. He has to duck and weave every thirty seconds or so to avoid knocking into someone and watch where he’s stepping on top of it all. Lots of people are sprawled out in the grass, smoking what he assumes must be pot out of homemade foil pipes. Danneel trails in his wake, grinning broadly and lighting a cigarette.

                “Let’s get close!” She says, grabbing his hand.

                “Easier said than done,” Jensen mumbles. “Excuse me,” he says as he knocks shoulders with a young black kid dancing in time to the music. The kid waves him off and keeps dancing, singing along to Havens’ song.

                “Seriously, Jen, come on.”

                Jensen gives up trying to lead and follows Danneel instead, who proves to be a pretty savvy navigator of the crowd.

                They end up with a decent view of the stage by the time Sweetwater starts and Jensen claps Danneel on the back.

                “Damn, well done. I can actually _see.”_

“I know, I’m amazing.”

                Jensen laughs and Danneel squeezes his hand.

                Now that they finally have a spot, Jensen starts letting himself believe it’s all real. The smell of smoke and farm grass and dust mixes up in Jensen’s nose and he’s _here,_ he’s in New York with Danneel and he’s skipping class and he’s free.

                He’s going to see Crosby, Stills, and Nash. He’s going to stay up all night with hippies and smoke cigarettes and sing along until he loses his voice. He’s going to sleep in his parents’ car and get up tomorrow and the next day and do the same damn thing ‘til he passes out.  

                He squeezes Danneel’s hand back and they sway in time to Sweetwater’s _What’s Wrong._

                And that’s when he sees him.

                Jensen doesn’t notice boys in _that_ way _._ But then he’s also never seen a boy like the one in front of him.

                He’s wearing only jeans and cowboy boots, all lanky long legs and flared denim low on his hips. He’s practically a god. His hair is long and feathered, a shade of chestnut brown with lighter streaks where the sun has touched it. His skin’s a tough-looking clay red-brown that makes Jensen think of a warm riverbank. His tanned stomach is flat and toned and his broad shoulders taper down to a tiny waist. His belt buckle is big and bronze with a star in the middle that reads “TEXAS.”

                He’s divine, dancing with a cute petite girl in an oversized white blouse that’s tied at the front. She has twin blonde braids and big green eyes with long lashes. The boy twirls her around and she giggles, slipping in the mud for a moment before he catches her in his arms.

                “Jesus, check him out,” Danneel mutters to Jensen.

                “What about him?” Jensen swallows.

                Jensen can’t take his eyes off the boy’s hair, his hips, the way he dances like he doesn’t have a care in the world.

                He’d never look twice at a square like Jensen, especially when Jensen’s still practically dressed for Sunday dinner with his parents.

                Except he _is_ looking at Jensen. Right at him.

                “Hey! Hey you!”

                Jensen checks behind him to make sure the beautiful tan boy isn’t talking to someone behind him.

                “M-me?”

                “Yeah, you,” the boy smiles and points at the peace sign on Jensen’s cheek. “I dig it. Very _avant garde_ with the accountant getup.”

                “Thanks,” Jensen blushes. “Danneel did it.”

                Danneel grins at Jared. “You want one?”

                “Hell yeah I want one,” the boy laughs and grins back. “C’mere sweetheart.”

                Jensen should’ve figured Danneel would catch the guy’s eye. She’s only totally gorgeous and being fearless doesn’t hurt her chances.

                Who had he been kidding to think, even for a second, that the boy was actually interested in _him?_ Besides, it’s not like the feeling would be mutual. Jensen’s not one of those New York club boys that are always on the news. He likes girls. Not that he’s ever gone steady with one, but he’s been on dates and the right girl will come along soon enough. Everyone meets someone in college. Hell, Jensen’s parents met when they were in college.

                “So what’s your story? What’s your name, where you from?” The boy asks Jensen while Danneel draws on his cheek, her tongue poking out of her mouth as she concentrates on getting it just right.

                “I’m Jensen. Jensen Ackles. This is Danneel Harris. We’re from Springfield, Pennsylvania.”

                “Jensen?”

                “Yeah,” Jensen mutters. “I know, it’s weird.”

                “No, no. I dig it. Like, really. It’s different.”

                Jensen smiles hesitantly. “Really?”

                “Really really,” The other boy grins again. “I’m Jared Padalecki, this here’s Kate Cassidy, and some of my other vagrant friends are wandering around somewhere—”

                Just then, a boy with stringy blonde hair and a guitar strapped to his back materializes, his small eyes narrowed. He, too, is shirtless, though he’s a lot paler than Jared.

                “Padalecki, if I find out you snaked the bud again while I was gone—”

                “Brother, I haven’t touched it,” Jared says, his hands in the air. “Cross my heart, hope Nixon dies.”

                “Who’s he?” The blonde boy asks, taking notice of Jensen. “And is he gonna offer to do my taxes?”

                “This charming man is Chad Murray,” Jared says to Jensen. “Jensen, Chad. Chad, Jensen.”

                “ _Jensen?”_ Chad repeats.

                Jensen extends his hand to Chad. The other boy considers him and then shakes.

                “Well howdy, Jensen. I’m Chad. Now where the hell’s my weed?”

                “Did you check to see if Soph had it?”

                “Ah, good point,” Chad nods. And, at that moment, Chad notices Danneel. “Well _excuse me._ Are you with the taxman?”

                “I’m with Jensen, yeah,” Danneel nods coolly, putting the finishing touches on Jared’s peace sign.

                “How ‘bout giving me one of those?” Chad asks, leering.

                “Where do you want it?” Danneel asks in a mock sweet voice.

                “Oh, I think you kn—”

                “Sorry, sugar, I don’t think it’s big enough,” Danneel cuts Chad off and smiles.

                Jared whistles and Kate bursts into giggles. Chad turns red and walks away, still mumbling about his weed.

                “That was _something,”_ Kate says, putting an arm around Danneel. “I like her, she can stay.”

                Jensen smiles, his heart sinking. He’s never going to be able to keep up with these people, not the way Danneel can.

                But Jared turns to him again, ignoring Kate and Danneel for the time being. Something that feels suspiciously like hope bubbles in Jensen’s gut.

                “Sorry about that. Chad lacks basic social skills at the best of times, let alone when he’s stoned. Where were we?”

                “You were telling me about yourself,” Jensen says.

                “Oh, yeah. Well, I’m Jared Padalecki. I’m nineteen, I’m Polish, I’m from Texas...”Jared cups a hand around a Marlboro and lights it. “So why are you here, Jensen Ackles from Springfield, Pennsylvania?”

                Jensen hesitates and thinks of all the “cool” answers he could give. But he doesn’t live the life these kids do, doesn’t know anything about being a hippie or following bands around the country or living out of a VW van. Plus, he gets the feeling Jared’s the kind of guy who knows when someone’s faking.

                “Honestly, I’m here because I really, really love Jimi Hendrix and I don’t want to be a fucking doctor.”

                Jared smiles wide and Jensen realizes he actually has _dimples_ on top of everything else. He might be sick with the unfairness of it all. 

“That, my good man, is the right answer.”

                “What about you?” Jensen asks, relieved.

                “For free love, CCR, and the Dead,” Jared says, exhaling a cloud of smoke.

                “Free love?” Jensen repeats.

                Jared nods and takes another drag on his smoke.

                “Y’know, away from all that suburban bullshit about marriage and two point five kids _._ It’s not for me.”

                “So what is?”

                Jared considers him, his lips quirked at one corner. “Jensen, has anyone ever told you you have the most beautiful green eyes?”

                “No, nobody’s ever told me that,” Jensen mutters, feeling his ears turn red and his stomach tying itself in knots.

                Jensen’s overwhelmed with the smells of tobacco and soap as Jared leans in close and kisses right underneath each of Jensen’s supposedly beautiful eyes.

“Consider yourself enlightened, then.”

                Jensen’s pretty sure he’s blushing, and if that isn’t the lamest, most virginal thing he could do in the situation he only makes it worse by clearing his throat and putting his hands in his pockets.

                So does this mean Jared’s…?

                Jensen’s thoughts are derailed when a short brunette girl with the brightest smile Jensen’s ever seen comes bounding up to Jared. There’s another blonde guy with a guitar trailing behind her, though he’s bigger than Chad.

                “Jay!”

                “Hey, Soph. Chad was just here looking for you—”

                Sophia snorts. “As if I was gonna save him anything. You bring paper?”

                “I did indeed,” Jared says. “Oh hey, this is Jensen by the way.”

                “Sophia,” the girl says, smiling. “And this is Steve.”

                “Steve Carlson,” the blonde says, nodding at Jensen.

                “Soph, _please_ tell me you brought it,” Kate groans. “If that loser Murray scores and I don’t I swear to God—”

                “Sister, do you _know_ who you’re talking to?” Sophia asks, drawing out a baggie of dried plant material from her buckskin purse.

                Jared pulls Jensen aside while the others talk and carry on. “You’ve smoked dope before, right?”

                “I—Smoked… wha?”

                “You mean you’ve never…?”

                “Not even a cigarette,” Jensen says, looking at his shoes. “I’m kinda new to this whole thing.”

                Jared’s obviously having a hard time processing this piece of new information, but he manages to take it in stride. He shepherds Jensen back towards the group, his hand at the small of Jensen’s back.

                “Okay, Jensen Ackles, new boy and cannabis virgin: my friend Cassidy here is gonna show you—”

                “The joint is your friend,” Kate says, wiggling her fingers at Jensen like a witch.

                “Knock it off, man, just show the kid what’s what,” Jared says with a laugh.

                “Kid?” Jensen asks with an eyebrow raised. “Last I checked I’m older than you.”

                “Guess I’m just an old soul.” Jared grins. “Kate, show him how to roll.”

                “C’mere you,” Kate says, gesturing Jensen to kneel down on the blanket with her.

                “I—I don’t—” Jensen clears his throat.

                “I _know,_ that’s why I’m showing you. Harris, you too.”

                Danneel ducks down with Jensen and Kate, grinning. “See, Jen? We’re learning even outside of class.”

                Jensen gives a shaky laugh.

                “Okay, so, you’re gonna take a sheet of rolling paper and lay it out like so…”

                It takes Jensen about twelve tries to roll a pretty lumpy joint, but Danneel gets it after three. She rolls her own cigarettes most of the time anyways.

                “Good enough,” Jared laughs, glancing down at his handiwork. “Me, you, and Sophia will share that one.”

                Jensen stands up and holds it out to Jared. “You first.”

                Jared smiles and takes out a BIC lighter.

                “Okay, watch.”

                Jared holds the joint between his thumb and forefinger, inhaling and holding the smoke in before passing it to Jensen.

                “Just, in?” Jensen asks

                Jared nods and exhales, coughing.

                “Not too much ‘cause it’ll burn a little.”

                 Jensen ignores his pounding heart and inhales.

                “Like really breathe it in, or it won’t work,” Jared says.

                Jensen does and sucks in too much, hacking and spluttering as it scorches his throat. His windpipe feels like it’s closing and he’s going red in the face. He passes the joint to Sophia and tries to hold his coughing in.

                Jared thumps him on the back. “Guess you got too much. But hey, at least you’ll get a good high. Sometimes it doesn’t even work the first time, so keep at it.”

                Jensen nods with watering eyes and waits. He doesn’t feel any different.

                The joint gets passed around, and when it comes back around to Jensen, he’s careful to take it a lot slower but he still coughs more than everyone else.

                Sweetwater are closing now, making way for Bert Sommer.

                “I don’t know anything about Bert Sommer,” Jensen admits, watching Danneel take a hit from the other joint.

                “Gosh, he’s _so_ cute. He’s got the sweetest baby face and the voice of an angel,” Sophia sighs.

                “And the hair,” Kate nods. “The _hair._ ”

                They settle down on the blankets, waiting and passing the joints around. Kate Cassidy hums Joplin’s _Piece of My Heart_ under her breath and Jensen gets twice as excited when he remembers that Woodstock lasts all weekend, and that they’ve barely scraped the surface of what’s to come.

                Chad finds his way back before Bert Sommer’s set, and he and Sophia bicker for an amusing ten minutes straight that ends with the two of them holding hands and smoking out of a pipe.

                Eventually, a small figure with massive, frizzy brown hair comes out on stage. From what Jensen can see, he’s barefoot.

                Everyone stands up and cheers, and when Jensen makes to follow Jared up, the world tilts slightly on its axis. He blinks and rights himself, leaning on Jared for support.

                “You feeling it?” Jared murmurs in his ear.

                Jensen has a hard time catching his breath and just laughs in response. He watches, mesmerized, as the stage lights focus on Bert Sommer and he starts to sing in a soft, high voice about a woman called Jennifer.

                “His _voice,”_ Kate sighs, fanning herself.

                Jensen’s pretty much in agreement.

                The sun’s starting to sink down below the hills and he feels a little like he’s in a giant, farm-sized fishbowl. Everything’s blurred around the edges, like he’s outside looking in. Time passes in odd bursts, fast then super slow. Jared’s warm at his side and his body feels incredibly relaxed and he’s kind of in love with Bert Sommer at the moment. Or maybe just Jared.

                Bert Sommer starts playing another song and Jensen leans back, watching the sunset.

_And when it’s over_   
_Gazin’ into your gentle light_   
_Pullin’ you closer_   
_Knowin’ what experience said alright_   
_Both of us powdered_   
_Now that is nothin’ left to hide_

Jared’s head is on his shoulder and Jensen leans into him, his stomach warm and his head light and he’s carrying molten gold in his chest; pure, liquefied happiness because there’s nothing in the world that he’d rather be doing.

_As we reach to touch the sky_   
_On the love we play so high_   
_Feelin’ free as the sea…_

Danneel settles in on his other side and takes his hand again.

The only standing ovation of the night goes to Bert Sommer after his rendition of Simon & Garfunkel’s _America,_ Jared singing along softly in Jensen’s ear.

_Counting the cars_   
_On the New Jersey Turnpike_   
_The've all come_   
_To look for America,_   
_All come to look for America,_   
_All come to look for America._

                 *

The rain starts really coming down later that night during Ravi Shankar’s set, but the music doesn’t stop.

                The field quickly turns to mud under them, and everyone huddles together, still dancing through the storm, bodies moving as one to the beat of the tabla and sitar.

                Jared pulls Jensen close and Jensen laughs, bending down to scoop up a handful of mud. He grins and smears it on Jared’s cheeks like a football player with eye black. Jared laughs and ruffles Jensen’s hair, spraying rainwater all over both of them.

                Jared’s own hair is hanging in a wet curtain over his shoulders and Jensen can’t help wanting to run his fingers through it—so he does.

                Jared giggles and lets him, even encouraging Jensen to come closer. Their hips are aligned against each other, their bodies touching and Jensen can’t stop laughing, can’t stop touching Jared because he’s perfect and this night is perfect.

                He gathers fistfuls of Jared’s hair and Jared looks down at him, his bright hazel eyes slightly hazy yet still holding that clever spark.

                There’s a moment where time seems even slower, where anything could happen and Jared just looks at him, takes him in like they’re seeing each other for the first time. Jensen can’t explain it, he can’t justify the way his stomach tugs with longing because they’ve only known each other for hours, and he knows Jared’s thinking the same thing.

                The moment passes and Jared blinks. He smiles soft and his dimples dent his cheeks.

                They roll a few more joints that night, dancing and swaying to Melanie, Arlo Guthrie, and Joan Baez before the night’s done and it all comes to a close around two in the morning.

                People hang around in the field after the music’s done, already covered in mud and in no hurry to start the long walk back to their tents. Some people have even managed to fall asleep right where they’re sitting, or on blankets that are covered in slime.

                “Should we head back?” Jared asks his friends.

                “I’m exhausted,” Kate nods.

                “What about you guys?” Jared says to Jensen.

                Jensen glances at Danneel, already dreading the thought of slogging at least two miles back to the station wagon. Not only that, but he’d rather not ruin his parents’ car’s upholstery on top of everything else he’s already put them through.

                “We had to park our car in town and walk,” Jensen tells Jared.

                “Guess that means you need a place to stay.”

                “Yeah,” Jensen nods. “I mean, if you have one.”

                “Plenty of room in the tent,” Jared shrugs. “If you don’t mind cozying up to a bunch of dirty, smelly bohemians.”

                Jensen can hardly think of anything he’d rather do.

                So later that night, hazy from weed, covered in mud and still half convinced he’s dreaming, Jensen lays down in the tent next to Jared and his friends. They all pile on top of the sleeping bags, too tired and hot to actually use them.

                Jared and Jensen are wedged in the tent’s back corner, while Chad, Kate, Steve, Sophia, and Danneel are squeezed together in something resembling a row / dog pile that leads to the tent door, limbs overlapping and more than one of them snoring within thirty minutes.

                It takes a while for Danneel and Kate to stop giggling and Jensen can’t sleep anyways, his mind still buzzing with the voice of Arlo Guthrie singing _Coming into Los Angeles._ His skin itches where the mud has caked on to it, but there’s no point trying to clean himself off because he can’t move an inch without knocking into Jared, whose shoulders are softly rising and falling.

                Just when Jensen’s eyelids start to grow heavy, Jared turns to face him in the dark. Jensen can just make out his features, his cheek still smudged with mud where Jensen had smeared it earlier.

                Jared’s too-pink lips are parted and his eyes flick away and then back up to meet Jensen’s gaze.

                Jensen feels him pulling at the buttons of his ruined shirt and rolls a fraction of an inch closer to Jared. With a few deft movements the buttons are undone and Jared’s hand is inside his shirt, his fingertips dragging over Jensen’s skin and leaving goose bumps. He lets his hand run all over Jensen, pausing to feel the contours of his stomach and chest before moving steadily south.

                Jensen stiffens when Jared’s hand reaches the waistband of his underwear. Jared doesn’t proceed, just looks at him and lets his fingers run over the elastic.

                This is everything Jensen’s been raised to believe is wrong. He’s never had these thoughts about another boy but Jared’s touch is electrifying him inside and out, so pure, so strong that Jensen knows right from the start that he’s going to give in to it. There’s no other option but to let the wave of heat wash over him.

                Jensen takes a deep, steadying breath, still not sure if he can believe what’s happening. Jared’s waiting, waiting for his permission as if Jensen would ever be able to refuse him. And with his nod, Jared’s hand is slipping down the front of Jensen’s underwear, to his half-hard cock and Jensen’s going to shoot out of his skin even before Jared starts doing _that—_

                Jensen’s gasp almost rips out of him, but he manages to hold it in by inches, looking at Jared with pleading eyes and shaking his head frantically. He’s never done this and he can’t do it with all of Jared’s friends so close because he’s gonna, he can’t—

                Jared just smiles and his hand redoubles its attentions, stroking up and down Jensen’s dick in the confines of his underwear.

                Jensen bites down on his lip, trying to hold it all in. God, _shit,_ he’s never, ever felt like this before.

                Before he can stop himself he reaches out and wraps his fingers in Jared’s long, tangled hair, pulling him closer. Jared’s eyes go dark and Jensen lunges forward, catching his lips in a slow, scorching kiss. He has no idea what he’s doing but Jared’s breath catches so he must be doing something right.

Jared parts his lips and suddenly their tongues are entwined, Jared’s pushing hard into Jensen’s mouth and he tastes like chewing gum and smoke and Jensen caves, letting Jared lick his way inside him.

                They break apart and Jensen’s sweating, aching for Jared to keep touching him, to devour him in every way.

                “God, I really wanna fuck you, Jensen Ackles,” Jared murmurs, his breath tickling Jensen’s ear.

                Jensen nods, panting, and kisses him again, not caring how sloppy and wet it is. Jensen’s still got one hand twisted in Jared’s hair, the other pressed up against Jared’s stomach, feeling the taught flex of muscle with every ragged breath Jared takes.

                He wishes Jared could make good on the promises his hand is making, but he’ll take this, the sweat and the stink of their bodies and the mud on Jared’s cheek and Jared jerking him off quietly so as not to wake up the others.

                Jensen bites down hard on his lip while Jared takes him in his fist, his thumb stroking the underside of Jensen’s cock.

                “It’s okay,” Jared rasps. “I got you.”

                Jensen’s hips twitch and he’s making shallow thrusts into the ring of Jared’s fist, the friction maddening but still not enough. Jensen almost whimpers out loud but Jared moves fast and catches his mouth so that he swallows Jensen’s moans, his tongue a warm, reassuring pressure against Jensen’s.

                “C’mon, I got you,” Jared says again, moving his fist up Jensen’s length.

                Jensen’s back is arching, his hips straining to get closer to Jared, and then they’re up against each other and Jared’s hard, too. Jensen can feel him through the material of his jeans, the smell of them overwhelming in the damp tent.  

                Jared grunts when Jensen grinds up against him and they rut against each other in the dark, trying to keep silent but panting and kissing so loud someone’s bound to wake up soon and catch them in the act.

                Jensen bites down on his own fist, his hips giving one last, wild twitch as he comes in Jared’s hand.

                “Shit,” Jensen gasps, his breath rattling.

                Jared leans over and their lips meet again, Jared jerking himself off with the hand covered in Jensen’s spunk. Jensen listens, fascinated, to the tiny, bitten-off moans and his stomach contracts with _want_ and something else that makes him feel like he’s coming undone at the seams.

                A moment later Jared gives a muffled, drawn-out groan and then it’s quiet. Crickets chirp in the distance and Jensen hears a group of people singing somewhere else in the field.  

                In the ringing silence inside the tent, Jensen’s chest heaves as he tries to catch his breath. His mind is already racing, backpedaling and trying to process what just happened. His brain keeps stalling out every time he thinks about Jared touching him, about how it felt to come apart in his hand.

                But worse than that is what comes after. No more Woodstock. No more badly rolled joints, no more mud, no more music.

No more Jared.

                “I need some air,” Jensen mumbles, staggering out of the tent and accidentally kicking a couple of the bodies in his path to the tent door.

                “Jensen, wait—” Jared whispers harshly.

                But Jensen’s already out in the night, walking fast to get away from the tent, from Jared, from all of it. He breaks into a jog and it’s raining again, a light drizzle that fogs his vision. He runs until he can’t anymore, his lungs burning in his chest. He’s being dramatic and childish but goddamn if he doesn’t feel entitled to it for once.

                How is he supposed to go back to his life after all this? How’s he supposed to drive to college like a good boy, sit in a pew on Sunday when all he’ll be able to think about is how good, how _right_ it felt to be with Jared?

                “Jensen!”

                Jensen’s ears turn red when he realizes Jared followed him all the way out here. He was too busy throwing his little temper tantrum to notice that he wasn’t alone.

                “Christ, slow down, man!”

                The rain’s slowing down, little more than a fine mist now. He’s soaked through again, what with the drizzle and his own sweat.

                Jared’s breathing hard, bent double when Jensen finally turns to look at him.

                “I guess I oughta stop smoking,” Jared pants.

                Jensen keeps staring at him.

                “Are you wigging out? Is that what this is?”

                “No, I just—” Jensen runs a hand through his hair. “I don’t know.”

                Jared stands up straight, his hair flopping into place.

                “Are you alright?”

                “Not really,” Jensen laughs derisively. “I mean—what was that? Back in the tent?”

                “A handj—”

                “Don’t,” Jensen winces. “I mean, I know what it was. But… did you mean it?”

                “Of course I meant it,” Jared says, perplexed. “What’re you—?”

                “I’m sorry. I just, I’ve never done… _that_ before. Not with anyone.”

                Jared’s expression sobers and he nods, waiting for Jensen to go on.

                Jensen takes a deep breath. “I’ve never even kissed anyone. Not like we did.”

                Jared blinks and clears his throat. “You serious?”

                “Yeah,” Jensen croaks.

                “I’m sorry, man, if I’d known—we shoulda gone slower, I didn’t—”

                “No,” Jensen interrupts. “No, it was. It was perfect.” Then he laughs. “I guess that’s the problem.”

                “What do you mean?” Jared asks, frowning.

                “It’s always like this for you, isn’t it? You just do what you want, with whoever you want. That’s what free love is, right?”

                “I’m not following,” Jared says, his brow furrowing.

                “I’m not,” Jensen fumbles. “I’m not even—but I like you.”

                “I like you, too.”

                “I know this is totally nuts and that we just met, but…” Jensen clears his throat. “I guess I’m just wondering what happens next.”

                “We’ve got two more days together, babe. And after that, who knows,” Jared says, taking a step towards him.

                “‘Who knows?’” Jensen repeats. “I know. I know I go back to Pennsylvania, I go back to school and premed and driving that stupid fucking Biscayne and you get in your van with your friends and you forget about me. You meet other boys—and girls—and you live your life.”

                Jensen’s shoulders are rigid and when Jared tries to put a hand on him, he pulls away.

                “I know you’re into this whole free love thing, but I can’t… I don’t want to wonder when I’m going to see you again.”

                “You think I’m gonna forget you?” Jared steps closer, and this time Jensen lets him. “Free love’s about choice, Jensen.”

Jared cups Jensen’s chin in his palm. “And I’d choose this,” he gestures around at the festival, “You. Every time. We’ll figure it out. Whatever it takes, okay?”

                Jensen holds his gaze, staring into Jared’s slanted hazel eyes. He probably shouldn’t believe him. They _did_ just meet, he has no reason to believe Jared will stay true to his word. But he nods. Jared’s telling the truth.

                “I’m not just saying this stuff. I mean it. I really, really like you Jensen. Maybe it’s the weed, maybe it’s just this crazy place, but I feel like we’re connected somehow. Like this was meant to happen,” Jared says.

                Jensen laughs. “Don’t feed me that hippie crap.”

                Jared smiles crookedly. “Sorry. It’s kinda the only crap I know. So what do you say we get rid of some of that mud in the pond?”

                Jensen nods and lets Jared take his hand. They walk side by side in the dark, weaving between tents and cars and sleeping bodies, their bare feet slipping in still more mud.

                Jensen’s heart is beating in his throat. He’s never felt so lucky in his entire life, and it’s like Jared said—this was meant to happen. His hand fits perfectly in Jared’s.

                They walk until the sky starts lightening. People are stirring across the field, popping their heads out of tents to check if the rain’s stopped, and finally, Jensen and Jared reach the pond behind the stage.  The stage itself looks like a sleeping giant, waiting to rise for another day. 

The sun’s cresting the hills in the distance and Jensen watches Jared strip out of his muddy jeans, down to his underwear.

                Jensen waves him on. “Well, don’t be shy now.”

                Jared grins and makes a big show of taking off his last layer. His chest and stomach are caked with grime and Jensen wouldn’t change a thing, watching him in the early purple light of dawn. He’s tall and muscled and Jensen never thought he’d notice another guy’s ass, but he’s sure as hell noticing Jared’s.

                “Your turn,” Jared calls.

                Jensen undresses much less gracefully than Jared, dropping his filthy school clothes in a pile in the grass and Jared doesn’t take his eyes off him.

                He’s conscious of how pale he is compared to Jared, how much less athletic, but he stands straight under Jared’s gaze, meeting his eyes.

                “After you,” Jensen says.

                Jared heaves a dramatic sigh, says, “Surf’s up” and sprints towards the pond, jumping in with both his knees pulled tight against his chest.

                He surfaces, spluttering, brushing his long hair out of his eyes.

                “How is it?” Jensen calls, walking towards the edge of the pond.

                “’S fucking cold. But good,” Jared says with a grin. He reaches up and wraps his arms around Jensen’s legs.

                “If you even try, I swear—” Jensen warns.

                “You’ll what? Push me in?”

                “Jared, do _not—”_

But Jared pulls on the backs of Jensen’s knees, knocking him off balance so that he trips into the pond.

                Jensen breaks the surface of the water, gasping for breath, and the first thing he hears is Jared’s cackling.

                “Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up. You look like a drowned rat,” Jensen grumbles.

                “Really? Not a mind-blowingly handsome merman?” Jared asks, treading water with his feet.

                “Not even close,” Jensen says, his teeth chattering.

                Jared swims closer to him with a contrite smile. “Forgive me? You just looked like you needed a little help.”

                Jared gets right in his space, powerful legs keeping him afloat next to Jensen.

                “I guess I can forget about it,” Jensen says with a sigh.

                “I’ll even show you how sorry I am.”

Jared leans in for a kiss and Jensen doesn’t bother resisting, just melts right into it, neck crooking slightly until they get the angle right. Jared’s teeth graze his bottom lip and suddenly he’s not feeling so disgruntled.

Their bodies slot together in the water, Jared’s arm around his waist, holding him up, and their legs swishing through the water lazily as they kiss.

A weak ray of morning sun peaks through the clouds, warming Jensen’s freckled shoulders.

                *

When they get back to the tent, Chad, Steve, Kate, and Danneel are sitting in the mud, drinking warm beers from the cooler and eating handfuls of trail mix. All of them are in fine spirits despite the rain and the gray skies and the less-than-stellar conditions. Sophia must still be asleep.

                “Where were you two?” Danneel asks with a raised eyebrow. She’s pulled her matted red hair back into a messy French braid and is already smoking a cigarette.

                “Taking a bath,” Jared grins. “The water’s fine, if you were wondering.”

                Danneel looks between the two of them and Jensen avoids her gaze. He doesn’t have to confirm anything. She nods slowly and gives Jared a small, private smile. 

                Kate’s bundled up under one of the dirty sleeping bags, still humming _Piece of My Heart_ under her breath,

_Break another little bit of my heart, now darling, yeah,  
Have another little piece of my heart now, baby..._

“So what’s on today?” Danneel asks, rubbing her hands together.

“Pretty much the best day of your life,” Jared says, knocking into Jensen’s side. “The day’s amazing and let’s not even talk about tonight.”

“Canned Heat, Mountain, The Dead, Joplin, Sly and the Family Stone, The Who, and a little band called _Jefferson Airplane,”_ Kate says, punching the air.

It’s only now that they’ve stopped moving that Jensen realizes how tired he is, and how stupid it was of both of them not to sleep. They’ve got another long night ahead of them.

“We’re gonna go scavenge for some real food,” Chad says. “You coming?”

“You guys go ahead, we’ll catch up,” Jared says with a glance at Jensen, who’s holding in a massive yawn.

Chad shrugs and the others follow, Danneel dragging behind.

“You didn’t sleep last night, did you?” She asks Jensen in a low voice.

Jensen bites his lip and shrugs helplessly. “Not exactly.”

Danneel grins. “I’ll see if I can get you two some grub. Do yourselves a favor and actually _sleep,_ yeah?”

“Right on. See ya later,” Jensen says with a sleepy laugh.

“Bye, Jen,” Danneel grips his shoulder, then turns to catch up with the others.

Jensen watches them go and somehow Jared’s hand ends up on his waist.

“You heard the doc,” Jared says, nuzzling into his neck.

“You gonna take her advice?” Jensen asks with a smirk.

“I might. But it’s so hard to keep my hands to myself.”

Jensen laughs.

“If I’m supposed to put up with you for another day and a half, I’m getting some sleep.”

Jensen retreats to the tent and Jared follows. It’s warm and muggy inside, their sleeping bags a mess on the floor.

Jensen doesn’t even care, just falls on to the closest one and closes his eyes. Jared rustles around for a moment, but then he’s lying behind Jensen, one arm slung around his waist to spoon their bodies together.

“I knew you’d be a sleep cuddler,” Jensen mutters without opening his eyes. He smiles in spite of himself.

“You love it,” Jared murmurs.

Jared falls asleep a few minutes later, his soft snores giving Jensen a rhythm to focus on through the noise of the other campers rising.

Jensen’s dirty and itchy and he probably reeks, but right now, he couldn’t care less about any of that.

He’s going to wake up and Jared will still be right there with him, not a figment of his bored imagination. He’s a living, breathing, dancing reminder of everything still to come in the next few days.

And after that, who knows? Maybe they really can find a way to make it work like Jared said.

Because right now, with Jared’s skin warm against his and the prospect of another amazing night ahead, Jensen’s willing to believe anything’s possible. 


End file.
